sixthiterationlogs | racing through canyons of angels ♙ closed

WHO: Jess Brightwell.
WHERE: The inn, then into the wild unknown.
WHEN: Aug. 9th.
OPEN TO: Raven Reyes.
WARNINGS: Children at play?
STATUS: Closed.

The morning was lightening into butter-yellow sunrise when Jess started getting ready to head out into the canyon.

Water, a makeshift knife, and an extra pair of socks went into his pack along with his other gear. Every couple of days now he'd taken his bag with a day's worth of supplies and picked a direction, hiking as deep into the canyon as time and circumstances allowed.

Towering rock walls in every direction made an excellent place to disappear a town, Jess scathingly had to admit, and the rough terrain and thick foliage in the forested areas didn't make it easy to scout. More than once these two weeks past, he'd been willing to trade an arm if it'd get him a proper knife to clear the way. But setbacks or no setbacks, someone had brought them here, and someone was providing them supply boxes. Jess had every intention of finding them, or barring that, a road out of this bloody primeval village.

And he knew he wasn't the only one who felt that way.

Before stopping by the storeroom to grab the rations he'd need, Jess' first stop was Raven's room. "You ready to go?" he asked, rapping on her door.

She wasn't a friend he'd trust at his back like Glain, but she was just as hungry for answers. Shared interests made them allies in this, at least.

Threaded | Flat

Raven kept him waiting outside her door for a few long minutes.

She wasn't assessing her leg. She'd spent a good portion of the morning when she'd woken from a nightmare ensuring her leg was still in place, that it was as functional as she recalled it being before she remembered that it was fully healed here. That'd been a long hour of her testing it out, making sure there were no kinks in that armour as she still found herself taken aback by how real it felt.

Instead, Raven was looking out the window of her room, observing the lack of life beyond the window panel. If Arkadia was here, there'd be so much life she wouldn't be able to sleep at night. There wouldn't be quiet moments where she could hear her own breathing. There'd always be someone talking, quietly or loudly, music playing or games eliciting shout matches.

Leaving her backpack beside her bed, Raven ensured the knives she'd stolen from the other houses — one here, one there, a spoon at times — were safely tucked into her boots. Without her jacket, she wasn't comfortable having them on her person. The clothes here were ridiculous compared to what the Ark and given her, and the Ark didn't have much at all.

Opening her door, she stepped outside. "Come on, Brightwell," she said, voice loud and chipper than it'd been when they'd first met. Raven didn't like staying inside of the inn, lounging about, waiting. Having the opportunity to explore made her excited. She walked by him, and once she was a few steps ahead, she glanced over her shoulder and smiled. "Daylight's wasting."

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